There's An Old Black Train
by whatsamatta
Summary: They could no longer walk side by side, their journeys were separate now. What can you do but get up every day, take a shower and brush your teeth? The rest will have to come as it comes.
1. Author's Note

_**From the Author:**_

I decided to put the author's note separately from the story, because I think this requires more than a quick two paragraphs stating how certain characters are not mine, I'm not receiving any monetary compensation, you know the whole bit. Because the characters I didn't create are not mine, in whole or part, nor is the song _The Old Black Trian_ from _Over the Garden Wall_.

This is incredibly personal for me. And hard, and painful, too – but therapeutic in a way. This is me working through the stages of my grief. So if you feel the need to comment, I'm invoking the "If you have nothing nice to say" rule. Seriously. I don't want to hear some anonymous twat pointing out grammatical errors, or being out of character, or whatever. I fucking don't.

The long and tall of it is we lost my nephew two days after Thanksgiving, rather traumatically and sudden, and it's been really fucking difficult continuing the day to day with the knowledge we'll never see him again. So this is me, as an atheist, coping. And while there are other things I want to write, about him and in general, this seemed to naturally come first.

So if you find this too heavy to read after just being unloaded upon by a total stranger, feel free to turn back now. I won't be offended. Just thought I should give fair warning. Now, I suppose, on with the story.

~Katelynn~

 _There's an old black train a-coming  
Scraping along the iron  
You don't need no ticket boys  
It will take you when its time_

 _Oh come on now young stranger  
Weren't you someone's son?  
How'd you find this depot  
'Cause it ain't where you belong_ _  
_ _  
You will pass a graveyard  
Stones worn by the years  
The train'll stop a minute but don't let it leave you here_ _  
_ _  
Well the coachman is my brother  
The engineer's my friend  
We'll get you more acquainted by the time we reach the end_ _  
_ _  
This journey is a long one  
It will take you all around  
Life rushing by your window  
Before it lays you down_ __

 _Now where this old train's going  
You can't come back from  
Leave your baggage here  
Because we'll need it when you're gone_

-Old Black Train, The Blasting Company


	2. The Journeys

_**~For Loghan~**_

He couldn't remember.

How he got to the gate, why he had a suitcase with him, pretty much nothing after his mom went to the store and his sister went upstairs to wait for her friend – and do _girly teenage stuff_. Almost like when he woke up after surgery, groggy and confused and in a hospital room without memory of going there. It gave him a headache, trying to remember.

"Eddie."

Looking up from his shoes, he saw a woman approach from over the grass. She had a friendly smile on her face, warm like the sun on his skin; and short dark hair framing her round face. Dressed smartly, his mom would have said, in a light grey dress suite of tweed and black heels. A bright red cap sat atop her head.

"How long have you been standing here?" her voice was soft, laced with some kind of accent he couldn't place.

"I, I don't know. I don't really remember much of anything."

Her smile became softer still as she stopped beside him, resting her hands on his shoulders and looking him over. An expression passed over her eyes, a look that made his stomach shift almost uncomfortably, before she squared her own shoulders in determination.

"Right, well, come along then. We've got a stop to make before the train arrives, and we can't afford to miss it."

" _Eddie! No no no no no no! Eddie! God no Eddie!" the wails broke the stillness of the neighborhood. She stooped above the small body, cradling his form as she shouted for her daughter to call 911. Over and over she rocked him, before somehow taking the phone and shooing the girls out and telling them to stay in the laundry room._

 _She couldn't let them see more than they already had._

 _The operator on the line was telling her the police were on there way, to stay on the line and try to administer CPR. She did as they instructed. But she knew – knew by the blood, by his eyes, that it was too late._

 _That he was gone._

"Where are we going?"

Really, he was incredibly polite, for an eleven-year-old from the inner city – it was really quite remarkable. She walked along side him down the path, through row upon row of headstones. The train tracks could be seen at the bottom of the hill, on the other side of the other gate by the station. If she listened closely, she could hear the old steamer's approach. They didn't have much time.

"You need to see something before we board the train."

At her mention of the train, he felt around in the pockets of his sweatshirt and basketball shorts, but came out with empty hands.

"But, I don't have a ticket."

She smiled again, appeared as if she wanted to laugh but restrained herself. Leading gently, she guided him down a specific row, before coming to a stop before a headstone. It stood out from the others; they were all worn down by the years of elements and neglect. This one seemed new.

"You don't need a ticket for this train, Eddie. It knows when to take you." With that she turned him to face the grave, and he what he read startled him.

 _Edward Miles Moser_

 _October 30, 2017- November 24, 2028_

 _Forever Loved, Forever Missed_

"Criminey."

He was quiet for a while, but she waited. Everyone processed this differently. She watched as he took a few shuddering breaths, and reached down to touch his name but stopped just short of contact.

"Am I, am I dead?"

She nodded, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he turned to look at her.

"But Jilly, and Dad. And Mom." Tears welled within in eyes, and she had to fight to stay composed as well. Tenderly she lifted her hand and rubbed at the side of his face, wiping away the blood that had appeared at his temple.

"Yes, dear. They, and all your family and friends that knew and love you are mourning, and will mourn you the rest of their lives. But they are still alive, and you have a train to catch. It'll only stop a minute, and we can't let it leave you here."

 _The church had been packed, and she was a wreck. Jillian and Arnold were to the right of her, Olga and her parents on her left, and she couldn't stop crying, even as she laughed at the stories and the pictures. Her beautiful, smiling, happy, funny, wonderful little boy. And he was gone._

 _It was raining outside, and she shouldn't have been surprised because how could even nature be happy and sunny? Her son, her little boy was dead._

 _Her family and friends had rallied around her, around them. They took care of the cleaning crew, replaced carpeting and painted the walls. They cleaned and delivered food and set up fundraisers and donations and kept her busy._

 _Or at least they tried._

 _She could still smell that day, still see him at night when she closed her eyes._

 _She couldn't go back into the bedroom, not for more then ten minutes anyway. And she couldn't go back into that closet._

 _Another sob wracked her body as she gripped her sister's hand and her husband's knee more tightly._

They had left the graveyard, and were seated quietly on the bench at the station. He could see the train approaching from the distance, a billow of smoke coming up from the black transport like breath in the cold. He leaned back against the bench, and tapped the suitcase back and forth with his foot.

"Can't I wait here for them?" his voice seemed small, and she felt sad for him again.

"No my dear, if the train leaves you here, you'll miss them when they come through in their time. Death doesn't end your journey, just changes the course a bit. But so long as you ride the train, you'll be able to wait for them at the end of the path."

He heaved a sigh, and knocked the case fully over with his foot. Trying to look like it was on purpose, he tried to toe it back up with just the one foot. When all he succeeded in doing was push it around on the stone, she laughed, and it echoed through the empty station. It reminded him of his mom's laugh, which made him feel better.

The roar of the old steam engine soon swallowed it though, and as it slowed to a halt before the bench the woman rose and picked his suitcase up off the ground. He stood, ready to make his way on board, but she stopped him.

"Now Eddie, this journey, well, where we are going you can't come back from."

He paused as well, looking over her shoulder into the sunny unknown.

"Is there any way I can come back to life if I don't get on?"

Slowly she shook her head, and he finally met her gaze with a crooked smile.

"Then what else am I going to do?"

She smiled with a shake of her head, as if he passed some unspoken test. Ushering him up the steps and through the door, they walked down the aisle until he found a seat he liked and plopped down in front of the window. She stowed the case in the compartment above their heads before sitting next to him, pulling out a book.

Slowly, and with a whistle, the train pulled out of the station.

 _They were learning how to be a family of three again. Every time Helga looked at his picture she cried, but the days were getting more ok. Though she hadn't had a good day yet, and thought it would be a long time before she had one again._

 _Jillian at first stayed within her room, but a few weeks later her friends were able to coax her out, and laughter was back in the house. It was a welcomed sound._

 _Arnold, after several family meetings, had started hunting for a new house. It was raw to think that the home his son felt so happy and safe in, caused nothing but pain for them now._

 _The detectives had confirmed what they already knew – it was an accident. Just a curious boy who thought he knew what he was doing and made a fatal, tragic mistake._

 _Birthdays were celebrated, school years started and ended and started again. Boys came over to be met during dinner. Friends were made and lost._

 _It took time, but slowly they adjusted to the new way of life._

 _This new_ **normal** _._

He watched as the landscape rushed by outside his window – the rolling green hills with clusters of wildflowers, the backdrop of a bright blue sky and soft, fluffy white clouds. He thought about his parents and sister, and an overwhelming feeling of sorrow welled up within him. He hoped they weren't mad at him – he knew they were probably sad, which made him feel even worse. He tried to focus on the happy memories he had, and to remember that he would see them again. That's what the woman had said, she seemed like a nice enough lady and he trusted her. So he let his mind wander through the good times, and around what it would be like when they got to wherever it was the train was heading.

Though he was still lonely and sad and missed his family and just wanted to see them and hug them again. But he couldn't.

Quietly, tears began to roll down his cheeks, yet he didn't wipe them away. He just let them fall as he watched the scenery rushing by his window.

Beside him a soft warm hand took his in comfort, and squeezed.


End file.
